For the Win by Cory Doctorow (best e book reader for android .txt) 📖

Mala for you."
Ashok hated this game he was playing, pretending that he didn't have Mala, but he could somehow find her. He wanted to crawl through the phone and strangle the man.
"How about if we just get you some gold?" It was The Mighty Krang speaking.
"Oh, there's more of you? Are you also an Indonesian whore 2500 kilometers from Hong Kong, or are you dialled in from some other exotic locale?"
"We can get the gold out of the game faster than anyone you could hire. All the best gold farmers are in the union. The scabs they've got working in the shops right now are so crap they'll probably screw up and get themselves banned." Ashok loved that Krang wasn't playing Bannerjee's taunting game either.
Bannerjee snorted. "That's not bad," he said.
"We could use an escrow service, one we both agree on." The gold-markets ran on escrow services, trustworthy parties that would hold gold and cash while a deal was closing, working for a small percentage.
"And you would return Mala to us?"
"I would do everything I could to find the poor girl and get her into your hands." Gold, silver and bronze medals in the 100-yard slime.
They dickered over price and timing -- Mala ended up promising him a 300,000 Svartalfaheim runestones -- and Krang disconnected Bannerjee.
"Brilliant," Ashok said, trying to force some enthusiasm into his voice, while inside he was quavering at the thought of Mala in the hands of Bannerjee.
"Very good," Yasmin said.
"Yes, yes," Big Sister Nor said. "And your team will get the runestones for us, and I'm sure you'll do it quickly and well because she is your general. All our problems should be that easy to solve. Now, Ashok, how have you done with your complicated problem?"
Ashok looked at Yasmin, who showed no signs of leaving.
"I think we're there. The trick was to create a situation where they can't put things back together without our help. Our accounts control the gold underneath so many of these securities that if they kick us all off, they'll create a massive crash, both in-game and out-of-game. At the same time, they can't afford to leave us running around freely, because there's a hundred ways we could crash the system, too, from resigning in a huge group all at once to repeating the Mushroom Kingdom job." Crashing the Mushroom Kingdom securities had been easy -- Mushroom Kingdom was already riddled with scams that had been flying under the radar of Nintendo's incompetent economist and security teams. Ashok had used Webblies and some of the Mechanical Turks that Big Sister Nor had supplied through her mysterious contact on the inside, building up a catalog of all the other scams and then giving them a nudge here and a shove there, using Webblies to produce gold on demand when necessary.
He'd gone into it thinking that he'd never manage to take on the Mushroom Kingdom economy, believing that the security would be all-knowing and all-powerful. But in truth, it had all been held together with twine and wishful thinking, straining at the seams, and it had only taken a little pushing and pulling to first make it swell to unheard-of heights, and then to explode gloriously.
"But we couldn't afford to repeat the Mushroom Kingdom job. There was no way we could have pulled that one out of the nosedive, once it started. It was doomed from the start. With Coca-Cola's games, we have to be able to promise to put it all back together again if they play cricket with us." Talking about his work made him forget momentarily about Mala, let the iron bands around his chest loosen, just a little.
"If we had kept things on schedule, it would have been much easier. But you know, with things all chaotic, I had to rush things. I've been dumping our gold reserves on the market for hours now, which has sent the market absolutely crazy, especially after they had that crash. How on Earth did you manage that?"
Big Sister Nor snorted. "It wasn't me. We're not sure if they got hacked, or some kind of big crash. It was well-timed, though."
"Would you tell me if you had caused it?"
Yasmin looked faintly shocked.
"Ashok," BSN said, with mock sternness, "I tell everyone anything I think they need to know, and I usually tell them anything they think they need to know. We're not in the secrets business around here."
That made Ashok pause. He'd always thought of the operation as being shrouded in secrecy. Certainly Big Sister Nor had never volunteered any details about her contact with the Mechanical Turks -- but then, he'd never asked, had he? Nor had he ever asked if he could discuss his project with Mala's army. He shook his head. What if the secrecy had been all in his mind?
"OK," he said. "Fine. The problem is this: if I had enough time -- if I had the time we'd planned on -- I'd be in a position to take Svartalfaheim right up to the brink of collapse and then either save it or let it collapse. It all comes down to how much gold we had in our reserves, and how much of the trading we controlled.
"But I've had to rush the schedule, which means that I can't give you both. I can bring the economy to the brink of ruin, but when I do, I need to know in advance whether we're going to let it blow up, or whether we're going to let it recover. I can't decide later." He swallowed. "I think that means we have to destroy it. I still have Zombie Mecha and Clankers underway. We can show them our force by taking out Svartalfaheim and then threaten to take out the other two."
"Why do you want to do it that way?"
He shook his head, realized she couldn't see him. "Listen, they're not going to give in to you. You're going to go in there and start giving them orders and they're going to assume you're some ridiculous third-world crook. They're going to tell you to get lost. If you make a threat and you can't make good on it, that'll be the last time you hear from them. They'll never take you seriously after that."
Big Sister Nor clucked her tongue. "Are we so easy to dismiss?"
"Yes," Ashok said. "I know what the Webblies can do. But they don't. And they won't, until we show them."
"We have Mushroom Kingdom for that."
That stopped him. "Yes, that's true of course. But that was so easy --"
"They don't know that. They don't know anything about us, as you point out. So yes, maybe they'll assume we're weak and maybe they'll assume we're strong. But one thing I know is, if they give us what we want and then we destroy their game, they'll never trust us again."
"So you're saying you want me to set this all up so that we can't make good on our threat?"
"If we have to choose --"
"We do."
"Then yes, that's just what I want, Ashok. I'll just have to be sure that whatever happens, we don't need to carry out our threat."
"OK," Ashok said. "I can do that."
"Good. And Ashok?"
"Yes?"
"I need you to speak with them," she said. "With who ever they get to talk to us. I'll be on the call, too, of course. But you need to talk to them, to explain to them what we've done and what we can do."
Ashok swallowed. "I'm not good at that sort of talk --"
Yasmin made a rude noise. "Don't listen to him," she said. "You talked the steelworkers and the garment-workers into coming to Dharavi!"
"I did," he said. "I didn't think it would work -- they'd never listened before. But once I explained what kind of situation you were all in, the thugs, the violence, told them that all of Dharavi would know if they came down --"
"Once you really believed in it," Big Sister Nor said. "That's the difference. I've heard you talk about the things you love, Ashok. You are very convincing when it comes to that. The difference between all the conversations you had with them before and the last one is that you came to them as a Webbly last time, not as someone who was playing a game to make himself feel like he was doing something important." The criticism took him off guard and pierced him. He had been playing a game at first, taken with his own cleverness at the vision of kids all over the world running circles around the tired old unions he'd hung around with all his life. But now, it wasn't a game anymore. Or rather, it was a game, but it was one that he took deadly serious.
"OK," he said. "I'll talk to them."
#
Now it was Jie's turn to watch Wei-Dong, as he typed furiously at his keyboard, reaching out to hundreds of Mechanical Turks who'd said, "Yes, yes, we're on your side; yes, we're tired of the crummy pay and of always having the threat of being fired over our heads." He reached out to them and what he told them all was:
Now
Now it begins, now we are ready, now we move. He sent them links to the YouTube videos of the protests in China, the picket lines in India, the workers who'd begun to walk off the job in Indonesia and Vietnam and Cambodia, saying, "Us too, us all together, us too."
Only it wasn't working the way it was supposed to. The Mechanical Turks had been happy enough to seed a little disinformation, to pass on some weird-sounding stock-tips or to look the other way when the Webblies were fighting the Pinkertons, but they balked at going to Coke and saying, "We demand, we want, we are all one." Just from their typing, he could feel their fear, the terror that they might find themselves without a job next month, that they might be the only ones who stood up.
But not all of them. First one, then five, then fifty, and finally over a hundred of his Turks were with him, ready to put their names to a list of dues-paying Webblies who wanted to bargain as a group with Coke for a better deal. That was only 20 percent of what he'd bargained for, but they still accounted for 35 of the top fifty performers on the Webbly leaderboards.
He kept up a running account for Jie, muttering in Chinese to her between messages and quick voice calls.
"Now what?" she said. She was jammed up in a corner of the room, resting on her sweater, which she'd spread out over the filthy mattress, eyes barely open.
"Now I call Coke," he said. He had talked this over with Big Sister Nor a dozen times, iterating through the plan, even role-playing it with The Mighty Krang playing the management on the other end. But that didn't mean that he was calm -- anything but, he felt like he might throw up at any instant.
"How is that supposed to work?"
He closed his eyes, which were burning with exhaustion and dried tears. "Are you hungry?"
She nodded. "I was thinking of going upstairs for some dumplings," she said.
"Bring me some?"
She got up and walked unsteadily to the door. She pulled a compact out of her purse and looked at